


He loves me, he loves me not

by Sirius_1910



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, First Kiss, Fluff, Gift Exchange, M/M, Mutual Pining, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris is So Done, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22695382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirius_1910/pseuds/Sirius_1910
Summary: With Valentine's Day coming and the Losers getting together to celebrate at the clubhouse, two boys try speaking feelings, but forget how messy they are on a daily basis.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49
Collections: IT ❀ Valentine's Day Fic Exchange





	He loves me, he loves me not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uhohcanteen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhohcanteen/gifts).



> Hope you like this gift!! To everyone that reads, thank you and have a nice day :D 💙

Eddie thought the flowers were a good idea. They were colorful, lively and they were a bitch to deal with. Pretty much just like Richie. Eddie was proud of himself, really. It was worth the near hypothermia experience when searching for them, worth the scolding from his mom when going out early, worth the blood in his thumb when arranging them. Okay, maybe not the blood. That was kind of freaking him out.

He'd locked himself in his room with the First Aids kit before his mother could see or hear him, but as he worked to stop the bleeding, he kept glancing at the door, all his senses on alert waiting for Sonia to come barging through it. That woman could _smell_ the blood even through walls, Eddie could tell. Fuck, he could already _hear_ her—

( _Eddie-Bear, is everything okay? You aren’t hurt, are you? You need to tell me because if you are then you might get an infection and we need to go to the hospital RIGHT AWAY—)_

Eddie jumped out of his skin when a loud _bang_ in the window came from beside him. It was a perfectly understandable natural reaction. Would his fat ass mother come through the small window? Impossible. Not in this life or any other. But, how could you blame him?

His head whipped around to look right when another rock came flying and banging against the glass. Eddie groaned and stood up, glaring down at his best friend currently trying to get his attention from the backyard. The minute Richie caught Eddie’s peaking head; he flashed a grin.

“Hiya, Eds!” Richie Tozier called from the floor. He extravagantly waved a hand at him, ignoring the fact that Eddie had already noticed his presence.

Eddie scoffed. “Be quiet! What the hell are you doing here? Aren’t we meeting at the clubhouse?”

Richie chuckled. Eddie was so _cute_ whenever he got annoyed and feisty. “Yeah, but I just had to come and give your mom her Valentine’s gift.”

“Then use the fucking door,” Eddie rolled his eyes and reached to close the window. He didn’t have time right now for Richie’s bullshit. But his voice—not the trashy imitations he was always making—softer now, floated up again.

“Come on, Eddie… can I come up?”

Eddie sighed, “Yeah,” He couldn’t fight against that. Not with the way he felt towards his idiot of a best friend. Eddie turned around and moved to sit on his bed, still applying pressure to his bleeding thumb. He’d spent years lying to himself about his feelings for Richie, trying to pass it on as platonic, for he feared it was crossing a line of what was right and would destroy their friendship and how Richie looked at him. And he couldn’t bare losing his best friend. Eddie found himself talking to Bill about it, one afternoon. Bill, the little shit, had brought it up, tired of seeing his friend pining for Richie and their constant flirting leading to nowhere. Apparently, they didn’t pass as unnoticed as Eddie had thought.

“It’s o-o-okay, Eddie,” He’d said. But Eddie didn’t think it was. Eddie knew the dangers of being gay in a small town like Derry, and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if anything were to happen to Richie because of it. He couldn’t do that to him. Couldn’t drag him down with Eddie.

Bill had tried reassuring him; both Eddie and Richie deserved to be happy, and he couldn’t stand to see them like this when he could help. After some time of failing in making Eddie come to terms, Bill thought it would be best to just be as straight forward as possible, otherwise the conversation would get to nowhere. Eddie just wouldn’t take Bill’s word on how Richie felt. “Y-you should t-tell him.” was the best advice he could come up with. At the time, Eddie stared at him as if he’d grown an extra pair of eyes.

Now that Eddie had considered it, and wrapped his head around the idea, he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like. To be Richie’s boyfriend, to get to hold his hand, to kiss those chapped lips, to tell him he loved him. But he was getting way too ahead of himself, lost in these thoughts, making it quite difficult being near Richie without blushing or freaking out, hyper aware of every fleeting touch and flirty comment. No, for now, Eddie’s courage had gotten him to picking up flowers for Valentine’s day. The rest was still unthinkable. But he would get there.

Richie came tumbling into his room a couple of moments later, panting and with his glasses askew, but with his grin still plastered to his face. Nonetheless, it fell away as if it never had been there when his gaze fixated on Eddie’s hurt finger.

“Shit, Eds, what happened?” Richie was at his side in a matter of seconds, sitting right beside Eddie on the bed and getting his face close to his hand. His dark curls—which had gotten longer and messier—tickled Eddie’s arm and had him shivering and backing away.

“Nothing, blame the flowers.” Eddie grumbled, regretting mentioning them as soon as the words had left his mouth. _Shit, now he’s gonna make a whole thing about it._

“Yeah, what’s up with that?”

“I just…”

“Anyone special for you this Valentine’s Eddie Spaghetti?”

“Who the fuck would I send them to? The only people I hang out with are you guys.”

Richie snorted. They were proper Losers all right. “So… someone sent them to you then,”

“Yeah, your fucking sister,” Eddie pushed Richie, though he barely moved.

“Ohhh I see, you don’t want me to know who’s your secret admirer,” Richie wiggled his eyebrows and poked Eddie’s side. He knew the exact spots where the boy was ticklish. Yet now, the reaction he got wasn’t quite what he had expected.

“ _There is nothing to know!_ ”

As soon as he finished yelling, Eddie felt wrong. He’d just wanted him to _stop_ , because it was ridiculous thinking; there was _nobody else_ besides him in Eddie’s life. It had always been Richie. And he’d been planning to tell him, or do something, hence the flowers. And now he had completely screwed up, because it was so fucking difficult; their whole friendship was at stake here! Yet…

Richie was looking at him with an expression he rarely ever saw on him. Eddie had the slightest idea that Richie might be jealous. If he didn’t know him any better, he’d think it was anything _but_ jealousy, except Eddie knew. Eddie felt it.

He turned his face away, Richie’s expression still burning at his side. “Sorry, I just… I’ll meet you at the clubhouse,” He felt Richie falter, struggling in bringing himself to leave him, but Eddie needed this. Needed to be left alone to sort his thoughts and start over, gathering up the guts and finally confessing. He owed Richie that.

Still, the disappointment and sadness in Richie’s “Okay,” before his weight lifted from the bed and his tall lanky figure slipped out the window, left Eddie breathless and heartbroken and reaching for his long-forgotten aspirator. He’d been an asshole.

* * *

Richie was an idiot. A gullible, hopeless, blind idiot. He’d thought… but he was just jumping into conclusions. Eddie would _never_ feel the same way, and Richie didn’t blame him, honestly. The boy deserved so much better. But he supposed, he _hoped,_ the lingering glances and light touches meant something _more_. Something he’d always felt in his and Eddie’s relationship, a stomach-churning sensation that made his knees go weak at the mere thought or mention of his best friend.

So, Richie was angry. He was angry at himself for ruining what he’d decided would be the moment he would work up the courage and confess his undying love for Eddie and hopefully make out with him. But no, he’d just had to be an insufferable little bitch and get Eddie on his nerves. The mixtape he’d labeled _Eddie my love_ —his heart poured out in the form of music, since he sucked at speaking emotions—felt heavy inside the back pocket of his jeans. It was mocking him, tauntingly reminding him how stupid he’d been. Of course Eddie would have someone else, someone flower worthy. Richie laughed weakly as tears threatened to fall from the rim of his eyes.

“Fuck _,_ ” He cursed and got on his bike, pedaling fast to the Loser’s clubhouse. He needed to get distracted before his mind got the best of him. He was going to _kill_ Stan for his love advice; next time he’d go straight to Haystack.

* * *

The rest of the Losers were already comfortably settled in the clubhouse when Richie arrived, running his mouth more than usual and swiftly stealing the cigarette Beverly had been smoking. Stan frowned at him from where he was sitting reading a book with Mike and Bill, having sensed something off about him. Richie promptly ignored the boy and didn’t dare meet his calculating eyes.

“So, are we doing an orgy or what?” Richie smirked and laid down on the hammock—his spot by now. _Yours and Eddie’s,_ his mind cut in painfully, rubbing salt on the fresh wound.

A chorus of distasteful groans and “Beep-beep, Richie,”s filled the air, making Richie scoff out a small laugh. “It _is_ Valentine’s, and we’re all here together, so let’s celebrate how it should be, right?”

“That’s disgusting,” Bev snorted. “We’re freezing here and spending Valentine’s together as good _friends.”_

“Eddie’s not here,” Stan cut in. Richie finally met his cold stare, which contained the scolding of a lifetime. He had no idea how Stan could just _know._ He hated his bluntness.

“I don’t think he’s coming,” _The flowers._ He’d be with whomever gave him those flowers. Richie felt sick even thinking about it— _his Eds_ with someone else; laughing with them, sharing a milkshake or doing whatever the fuck couples did. There’s no way he’d come after how irritable Richie had been at his house.

“W-Why not?” Bill was suddenly very interested in the conversation, frowning at Richie.

Before Richie could speak again, the trap door creaked and a flash of light entered their hideout. Eddie’s head peered in. “Hey guys,” He called from the floor above them, his voice doubtful and a bit nervous. “Um, Richie, can I talk to you out here?”

“He’ll be right up,” Stan spoke for him before he had the chance to say something stupid. Stan was really tired of it all. He glared daggers at Richie and pointed to the door. Sighing, Richie got up and inhaled his cigarette one last time before stumping it. He climbed the ladder, flipping Stan off before disappearing into the sunlit world.

The light didn’t help with Richie’s situation—that was just his luck. Eddie was more beautiful than ever—his nose all cute and red from the cold, the sunshine making his deep brown eyes shine and his freckles pop, his soft skin flawless. Richie had to stop himself before he got too caught up staring at Eddie, after all, he’d ask to talk to him, and it seemed serious. Richie owed him an effort to be attentive for a few minutes.

Though Eddie felt like disappearing. Swallowed by the earth. He hated how a conversation he’d hoped would come out in his favor had completely turned around and fucked things up. Eddie had spent a solid ten minutes sulking and panicking after Richie had left before deciding to completely _fuck it all,_ because there was no turning back now. Plus, he had been sure Richie was jealous. At least he hoped he was. Nevertheless, his courage for confessing was now biased on that.

“Can I—”

“Listen—”

Both spoke and stopped at the same time. Small, tentative smiles crossed their faces and it almost felt like they were back to normal, but not quite yet.

“Richie… I’m so sorry,” Eddie blurted.

“You got nothing to be sorry for, Eds, I should be the one apologizing.”

“No, no. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have,”

“What are you saying? _I_ was the asshole who kept pushing you when you clearly weren’t comfortable talking about… the flowers.”

“But I _wanted_ to talk about them, Richie, you just came at a bad time and I wasn’t prepared.” Richie stared. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear Eddie talk about someone else in a way which Richie always dreamed he would talk about him. “That’s why, _I’m sorry,”_

“I’m sorry too, then,”

Eddie smiled, and it lit up the whole world.

He looked down then, quite bashful, and reached inside the backpack he was carrying. Eddie was prepared to make things right, to stop dancing around each other and finally achieve something. This was the moment he’d been waiting for ever since his talk with Bill and his determination to confess. He’d wanted it to be flawless, like in the movies, but had forgotten how messy him and Richie were on a daily basis. This wasn’t a movie—this was real life. But he might as well chase his happy ending.

He pulled out the flowers.

“Here,” Richie stared. “They’re for you,” he blinked. Once, twice. “I know they’re a bit crumpled, but I ran here and didn’t finish arranging them and if you don’t like them it doesn’t matter you can just throw them away but what’s important is—”

“Eddie, they’re for _me?_ ”

Eddie scoffed. “That’s what I said, dipshit.”

“Always been for me?”

“Yeah, for who else could they be?”

There hadn’t been a time when Richie Trashmouth Tozier had been left so speechless so many times. He took the delicate, colorful flowers that had spurred so much unnecessary jealousy in him and smiled. A tender, heartful one. He was swooning. But Eddie wasn’t finished, rambling again when he realized Richie would say no more.

“Anyways, what I came to tell you, besides sorry, is something that has been nagging me for quite some time now and I talked to Bill about it—well he forced it on me—and he told me to be straight forward and tell you that um well, we’re best friends and I couldn’t be more happy with that but I’ve always felt like there was something _more_ , like we could be something more, and what I’m trying to say is—Richie are you even listening to me?!”

He teared his eyes away from the flowers. “Huh?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,”

Richie chuckled. “Shit, I’m just—gimme a minute to recover from the flowers,” Eddie gaped at him. _Just when and why did I fall for this thickheaded idiot?_ “Hey! You got no idea what you do to me so don’t judge,” Richie grinned.

“Dickhead,” Eddie said but with no resentment to it, though he did roll his eyes. Richie gasped with faked hurt and pressed a hand to his heart. Eddie smiled fondly before deciding to fuck trying to confess with words—besides, Richie was looking at him like he was the world. With that boost of confidence, he surged forward and captured Richie’s lips with his own, grabbing his collar. It was even better than he thought it would be.

Their noses bumped due to Eddie’s enthusiasm, and it took Richie a solid minute (in which Eddie was, quite frankly speaking, panicking inside) to start kissing back. But when he did, it was the greatest feeling both boys had ever had. They were both relieved and overjoyed. Eddie felt his knees give out and briefly wondered if he’d gotten sick, before completely dismissing it—he had been literally craving for Richie for _years._ The other boy wasn’t so grounded either; his heart threatening to beat out of his chest and his palms sweating regardless of the cold. He’d placed them on Eddie’s sides to keep him from completely losing it. And the smaller boy cupped his cheeks like they were the most fragile thing in the world—full of tenderness and heartful longing.

When they broke apart, it was for the lack of air, but they parted just enough—their foreheads still touching, their warm breaths mingling. Eddie let out a small chuckle and soon Richie joined him. Everything was exhilarating, their pulse faster than ever and feeling warm and fuzzy inside. What was happening was hard to believe for both of them; since they had liked each other for so long and having only _dreamt_ of it. So, Richie kissed him again—chased after Eddie’s lips, short but sweet—and separated a bit while his hand went for something in his back pocket. Eddie frowned, but then Richie extended his hand, revealing a mixtape. It wasn’t the first time he’d given Eddie one, being a normal gift passed between the boys when Richie figured out how to make them. Eddie had an entire collection back home—mixes of both his music and Richie’s. He held them quite dear to his heart and listened to them on a daily basis, thrilled by the mere thought that Richie had made them especially for _him._

But this one. _This one._ The title read ‘Eddie my love’, and before Eddie could start complaining about the pet name Richie blurted out, “I made this for you. It’s quite special, ‘cause, um, it’s how I feel, so listen to it closely.”

“Fuck, Richie,” Eddie gave out a small laugh and looked up at Richie. He was blushing, despite being freezing out. “Why did it take us so long?” Eddie sighed, grabbed the gift and moved forward until he was pressed up against Richie, enveloped by his smell. He hugged him. Richie wrapped his arms around the smaller boy instantly, enjoying the warmth and the feel of holding Eddie like this. It felt like he belonged in Richie’s arms—like two pieces of a puzzle.

“Fucking finally,” Both boys split and turned to look towards the door to the clubhouse. Various sets of eyes were peeking from under, but who had spoken was unmistakably Stan. Then Beverly fought her way up, and whooped before crawling out and running to Richie and Eddie. Pretty soon, they were joined and congratulated by the other Losers and nothing had ever felt so _right._ And it was all the flowers’ fault.


End file.
